"Wow, Rachel... you're kinda dressed up for a Tuesday afternoon, aren't you?"

Rachel capped her eyeliner and turned toward Hilda, who was leaning against a sink with a smile on her face.

"Ah, it's a favor for a friend. Tonight's his first suave lesson."

"Uh, okay, what?"

"It's this guy I've been friends with for years. His fiancee's super-smooth ex-boyfriend has been on the scene, and he's feeling kinda dorky by comparison. So we're going out tonight, and I'm gonna teach him stuff."

"Stuff?"

"Well, his girlfriend told me that she wants to feel like Audrey Hepburn in Roman Holiday, you know... so I'm teaching him to be Cary Grant."

"You think this guy can pull that off?"

"Oh, I think he can." Rachel turned back to the mirror, poking at an eyebrow.

Hilda laughed. "Okay, there was a huge unspoken 'but' in that sentence, why don't you spill."

"Eh. I don't know. I guess I wish she'd just appreciate him the way he is. It makes me kinda sad that he feels the need to do this."

"Well... would you feel sad for him if he took, I don't know, cooking classes to impress her? Or dancing classes, or worked out? It's kinda the same thing, it's self-improvement. You shouldn't feel bad."

"It's not that, it's..." Rachel studied herself in the mirror for a moment. "Eh, never mind. I'm sure you're right."

***

Chandler fiddled nervously with his bouquet, feeling very stupid all of a sudden. This had seemed like such a great idea at first. Now, waiting outside the restaurant, he was aware of the superlative dorkiness of his situation. Or hell, of himself.

He should call Rachel's cell, call it off, go home with a scrap of dignity left. Or a shred. Was a shred smaller than a scrap?

"Excuse me... are you Chandler Bing?"

He whirled, blushing, then stopped cold.

Rachel looked amazing. No, no, beyond amazing... she'd gone off into a land where the adjectives could not follow. A slow smile spread over her face.

Oh god, how long had he been staring? Must make words! Oh god, not just words... suave words! That was the point! Argh, argh, think of movies, think of Richard...

"I'm Chandler Bing," he finally sputtered.

Rachel burst into a grin. "Okay... totally endearing as that was, you gotta work on your response time. Try it again, only this time, say it like this... 'I'm Chandler Bing'. Can you do that? I'll go around the corner again."

"You know what? Monica knows my name. So we can skip that part, right? Just come up to me like Monica would."

"Are you seriously suggesting that you'd be meeting Monica somewhere... and you'd be earlier than her?"

"Good point! Okay, I'll go around the corner, you stand there and look annoyed."

He jogged around the corner of the restaurant and back. Rachel stood next to the door, looking impatiently at the place where her watch would be.

"Hey, honey!"

"You're late. Again." Rachel glared, rather convincingly.

"Sorry, sweetie... my god, you look gorgeous."

"Can we please eat? I'm starving."

Chandler rocked back on his heels. "This isn't going well."

"Yeah, it's not, is it?"

"So I guess the first thing we've learned is that I need to beat her everywhere. So I'll stand here, you go over there, and we'll do it over."

He clutched his bouquet, and Rachel reappeared.

"Hey, sweetie! You look gorgeous."

"What are you doing here so early? Did you blow off work again?"

Chandler sighed and dropped his arms. "What was that?"

"I was being in character!"

"You want to skip the greeting part?"

"Yeah, okay, let's go inside."

Chandler pulled the door open for her and stood beside it with a flourish, waiting. At Rachel's look, he frowned.

"I screwed up already, didn't I."

"Well, you kinda missed the door dance."

"Door dance?"

"Oh yeah. It's very important."

"How I open the door is important? Sweet jesus, I'm a dead man."

"No, no, you're learning, this is good. C'mere."

She took his hand and pulled him into position. "Stand beside and slightly behind me... no, no, my right side. Okay, put your left hand on the left side of my back, just above my waist. You're not groping, you're helping, see. And you're just behind me, so I can just barely feel your body heat. Subtle body heat is very good."

"Okay, now what?"

"Now you reach with your right hand, past me, to grab the door handle. See, this is good, because it presses your body into mine. It's like a spooning preview, you know? But fleeting... enticing. So you grab the door handle, pull it open, and now you use the hand on my waist to gently steer me inside."

"I am never going to remember all that. Why does this matter, again?"

"Because you've established so many things in a three-second move! One, you've opened the door for her, without being ostentatious about it. Two, you've given her the little spooning-preview, with the body heat. Three, you've got the hand. It's a little forceful, but respectful. You're manly, you know, but sensitive. Hopefully, she's a little dazed with hormones from the spooning preview, so the little push inside forces her jellied knees to start moving. It's dizzy, it's disorienting... but you're there. So you're saying 'Hey babe, being with me is going to make your head all spinny, but it's okay, 'cause I'll be there to help you.'"

"We're going to be here a long time, aren't we?"

"Yeah, we should have brought snacks. Okay, back out, and it's door dance again."

Chandler sidled up to Rachel and placed his hand on her back, letting his fingers slide down the silky fabric of her dress and settle in the spot she'd indicated, feeling the warmth of her beneath. He reached for the door handle, stifling a gasp at the electric shock when his body pressed fully against Rachel's. He inhaled sharply, and his nose filled with the smell of her shampoo and the soft scent of her skin. Door open, he gently steered her inside the restaurant.

Rachel bit her lip, thankful that Chandler was behind her and couldn't see her face. His hand on her waist, his breath on the back of her neck, the heady rush of his cologne... when was she going to get over this stupid crush? It was bad enough to feel this way about a guy who was engaged, a guy who was only touching her in an attempt to please his fiancee... but that fiancee was her best friend. God, no wonder Monica was so paranoid about her... she had a right to be. Worst of all, even as she moved through the door, chastizing herself, all she really wanted to do was lean back into Chandler, turn around, run her fingers through... stop it. Stop it, stop it, stop it...

"Okay, we're through the door, now what?" Chandler asked, slightly out of breath.

"Um, then I have to pee, but that's not usual, so we'll pretend this isn't happening. Be right back."

Rachel fled into the cold safety of the ladies' room.

***

"So..." Chandler said, pouring them both a little more wine, "How'm I doing so far?"

"Really good. No, seriously, you are. That 'It's just so hard to appreciate eating out when I live with the best chef in the city' comment was absolutely inspired."

"Thanks. So now what?"

"Now, we finish dessert. After dessert, we're gonna dance. And Chandler... don't think I didn't notice that you *didn't* comment on your dessert's resemblance to a giant penis."

"Oh, thank god, that was killing me. So now we..."

"Just talk for a while."

"Ah, okay." He paused. "Actually, there is something I've been wondering... and you can hit me if you feel like it... but... are you okay with this whole Ross and Wendy thing?"

"Ohh. Y'know, it's weird, but I am, I really am. I mean, it hurts a little... I guess I just sort of think of Ross as *mine*, you know? And who ever wants to see their ex happy with someone else?"

Chandler bit back a comment as Rachel continued.

"But... Ross and I are great friends. Not so great as boyfriend and girlfriend. I mean, it seems like it'd be common sense that two people who can get along as friends ought to be able to get along as boyfriend and girlfriend, y'know? But I think I'm finally realizing that just isn't true."

"How so?"

"Well... it just doesn't work out that way. I mean, okay, look at Ross and Wendy. They go to the dinosaur thing, they go to foreign films, they stay home and watch the Discovery Channel... and they're both having a blast... like optimum fun for both of them. If Ross and I did any of those things, I'd be bored and miserable... if I even agreed to do them, you know? Ross and I were always hunting down common ground, things we could both stand to do... but those things we ended up doing were never what either of us *really* wanted to do. Either we did a 'Ross' thing, and he was happy, or we did a 'Rachel' thing, and I was happy, or we did a 'Ross-and-Rachel' thing, and we were both half happy. Y'know, any way you slice it, that's half as many happy people as when Ross and Wendy go out."

Rachel sighed. "And if we'd gotten married... we would have had to compromise on *everything*. From how we raised the kids to where we lived, what we named them, everything. Neither one of us would ever have gotten to have things the way we really wanted. And the love is supposed to balance that out, you know, but for us it just didn't."

She looked up and saw Chandler staring off into space. "Oh god -- I'm boring you to death, aren't I? I'm so sorry, let's talk about something else, okay?"

Chandler turned back slowly and met her eyes. "You weren't boring me, Rach. To be honest, you were depressing me."

"All that stuff I said... I was talking about me and Ross. You and Monica are a totally different situation."

"Are we? Really?"

"Well... yeah..."

"I don't know. I've just been thinking a lot. I mean... I could kind of understand me and Monica if we'd been more like..."

He paused, searching for any other metaphor, finally having to settle for the one in front of him.

"Well... more like me and you. Y'know, friend-wise. You've always been unattainable, you know? Even if I *had* developed feelings for you, you always had a big 'Property of Ross' stamped on your head. There was never a chance for anything to happen. We weren't that close, we never really spent time alone... I could understand it if something developed between *us* years after we met."

Rachel noticed she was holding her breath and carefully let it out as Chandler continued. "But Monica and I weren't like that. We've been friends for years, close for years. I'd kissed her before, held her before, slept in the same bed with her before... it just seems like if there was going to be some magical 'wow, I've never looked at you like this' thingey happen, it would have happened way before London. Instead, she was pretty much flat-out telling me that I wasn't good enough for her. I wasn't even good enough to be her backup, and god knows I offered enough times."

He stabbed his dessert with his fork. "Then, you know, we're in London, and she's drunk and depressed, and she comes to me. You know what she said, when we started kissing?"

"What?"

"'This isn't weird.' And she was all surprised about it. I mean, I'm lucky she was even looking for me when she came into the room."

Rachel choked on her wine, and hurriedly raised her napkin to her face. Chandler eyed her suspiciously. "Rachel... you have something to tell Chandler."

"No, noo, I don't, there was um, a bug in my wine."

"Tell Chandler."

"About the bug? Okay, it was small, and black, and icky..."

"Rachel!"

"No, Chandler, I'm sorry. Because it's not a big deal, and you're gonna take it really personally, and flip out, and I'm not doing it."

"I swear, I will not flip out."

"Or take it personally?"

"Y'know, I won't even take it. Tell me."

"Okay, fine. She was looking for Joey, but he wasn't there... you were."

"SHE WAS..." Chandler began in a squeaky high-pitched voice before catching himself. He deepened his voice past his own and slung a elbow casually on the table. "Looking for Joey, was she? How amusing, and not at all something to flip out about."

"But Chandler, I mean, you have to see how little that matters now."

"Of course!" he replied in the same fake voice. "I mean, my entire acceptance of the night in London did hinge on her looking for me and not for Joey, but that's not a problem. If you'll excuse me, I'll just be in the restroom, not flipping out."

Rachel sighed as Chandler strode to the bathroom. She took a sip of her remaining wine and tried to ignore the unmistakeable sounds of someone beating their head against a bathroom stall.

***

Rachel signaled for the check, and resumed staring at her fingertips. Why, why, why had she said anything, why?

Chandler returned and dropped heavily into the seat across from her, his forehead fading back to pink from angry red. When the waiter brought their check, they both reached for it. Chandler was quicker, jamming his credit card into the slot and handing it back with a flourish.

"Chandler, you should at least let me..."

"Oh no, no-no-no. You've taught me the door dance and *so much more*!"

"Chandler, I never should have said anything, I'm sorry."

He sputtered. "Why are *you* apologizing? You're the only one of my friends who told me the truth."

Rachel looked down at her napkin miserably, and Chandler continued. "For that matter... you've been so, so great to me. Agreeing to do this tonight... listening to me whine... trying to make me feel better about Richard. I just... you know, I am kicking myself. I've known you for so long, and I never knew how great you were. I wish I'd been friends... closer friends... with you a lot longer."

The waiter returned, and Chandler signed the receipt, sliding the card back into his wallet and shutting it with a snap.

"So. Let's dance."

"You still want to dance?"

"Hell, yeah. If I'm not even my fiancee's choice of one-night-stands, I need your help more than ever."

***

She should not have agreed to this. The thing at the door had been bad enough... a second of fleeting contact. Here, in the middle of the floor, wrapped in his arms, head on his chest... and wine-buzzed on top of it all.

Why did he have to smell so good? She could feel his heart beating through the soft fabric of his shirt, and his hands changing position on her back felt like they were painting throbbing colors across her skin.

Chandler raised his hand and ran it down her hair, and Rachel couldn't help sighing. Even her own breath across her lips was arousing, as hungry for touch as they were. Involuntarily, she raised her fingers to them and ran two fingertips across her aching lower lip.

The worst was the knowledge that she was completely alone in this feeling. Chandler was thinking about nothing but Monica, how to make Monica love him. He was probably pretending she *was* Monica.

And dammit -- Monica did not deserve him. Not the way she'd been acting lately, anyway. For god's sake -- *shrubbery* could tell she was infatuated with Richard.

Didn't matter. Didn't matter. Monica was her best friend. And even if Monica was making goo-goo eyes at Richard... what she herself was doing was far worse. Monica wasn't pretending to help Richard and melting to butter in his arms.

Melting to butter in the arms of someone who wasn't the slightest bit attracted to her, someone for whom she was a... test dummy.

She shifted her weight, dropping her hands down to Chandler's waist with a sigh.

Their hips aligned, and Chandler's eyes flew open. He took a step back, fake-yawned loudly, and rubbed his eyes.

"You know what, Rach? I'm, uh. I'm getting kinda tired, you know? I think I've got this slow-dancing thing down. And uh, wow, huh, I have to pee. That's not suave, pretend I didn't say that. Um, anyway, I'll... I'll be peeing. Um, not here. In there. Or something suave instead. Okay."

Chandler sprinted to the bathroom, leaving Rachel standing awkwardly in the center of the dance floor.

Rachel closed her eyes and took a deep breath, willing her face not to turn tomato red. She looked around, where the other dancers were staring at her with frank curiousity.

"When he's gotta go, he's gotta go," she said weakly, and power-walked to the coat check.

Oh god. Oh god! He knew. He had to. She had totally blown it, crossed the line, snuggling up to him like that. No wonder he had jumped back like she'd bit him. Oh god, now he was going to be all weird and suspicious of her, and not want to hang around her, and... oh god.

Damage control. Damage control. She had to convince him she didn't like him that way, convince him it had been a mistake.

***

Chandler stood in the bathroom stall, desperately thinking about baseball, worm farming, Janet Reno, anything.

"Down, boy, down," he whispered, glaring angrily at the offending body part, which was still gazing stubbornly at the ceiling.

Think about Friday's WENUS. Think about Barney Fife. Think about the shopping channel. Do not think about Rachel's hair sliding across his neck, the soft...

Rodney Dangerfield! Polar bears! Velveeta! Telemarketers!

***

They walked back to their apartment building in complete silence, maintaining at least three feet of space between them at all times and near-aerobic speed.

Chandler couldn't even look at her... he was too busy thinking of imaginative ways to either kill himself, or turn back time.

"So... this is my door," Rachel said awkwardly.

"Yeah, funny, cause, um, this is mine."

"Well, I'll see ya."

"Yeah, okay. And, um, thanks for the lesson."

"Yeah! You're welcome! Um, seeya later."

"Later..."

They both let themselves into their apartments, slammed the doors, and sunk down against them.


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To be continued...